


Weapon

by pinkishbee



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Don't Have to Know Canon, Hurt, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-14 06:47:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17503655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkishbee/pseuds/pinkishbee
Summary: The world has been fucked for several months now. Jim and Pam were on their own, trying to survive, but the fear got to Jim's head and caused him to do things he shouldn't have.Pam is nowhere to be found, and Dwight has very specific plans for Jim.(I suck at summaries kdjddkk)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> An apocalypse Office AU. what the fuck.

Jim's POV

The sound of heavy boots disturbing fresh snow draws nearer. A sly chuckle breaks the quiet winter air. There's no doubt it's Dwight.

"Funny how we end up," he says. "Huh, Jim?"

He leans down to look at me. I keep my eyes locked on the red snow below me, surrounding my hands.

"What is it like when you realize the weight of what you've done? Have you even realized it yet?"

His foot roughly nudges my face. "Come on, answer me."

He walks around me, looking at the body just a few feet away. I watch him kneel down and flip him over. "Oh, wow!" He exclaims at the sight of his face.

I look back at my hands, buried in the deep snow.

"That must've felt good."

I seem to catch his attention with a small sob, but he doesn't stop.

"You know, I remember in the beginning when you said you wouldn't kill. You said you'd do what you had to, but you wouldn't kill. That's why you and Pam ran off without me-- not that I needed you."

He tosses a granola bar in front of me, and keeps going. "Where is Pam anyway?"

"I don't know," I answer.

"So you can talk."

He kneels in front of me again and takes the bar, taunting me by waving it around my face. "You've been on your own for how long?"

I don't answer. I don't really remember. It couldn't have been long.

He pockets the bar and lifts me from under my arms. I stagger a bit, but he keeps me steady. "That's fine. You have me now. What do you think of that?"

"I'd rather die," I cough through cold lungs.

"Good. You will, in a way," he says, bringing me over to a tree and propping me against it like some ragdoll. He grabs my bag and looks over the dead body. "Did you loot his stuff?"

I shake my head, and immediately he gets to work. He takes every useful item and shoves it into my bag. I reach over and grab it as he walks over.

"Can you walk on your own?" He asks, and his intention starts becoming clear. He's not asking for my well-being, but instead if I'm going to burden him. He's going to end up using me.

I'm not sure if I can, but I say yes anyway.

"Let's get you some proper weapons."


	2. Best Salesman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Cannibalism mention, mild cursing, manipulative behavior

Something violently shakes me and yells at me to get up. As I pull the blankets over my head, they're torn away, exposing me to the frigid air. I shiver and ask for Pam.

"Pam isn't here, remember?" Dwight says. I groan and start to suffocate myself in the pillow.

"Hey, get up! You've been asleep for sixteen hours!"

"Fuck it," I mutter. "What's the point? She's probably already dead and I don't want to be the one to find her body."

Dwight's boots clunk across the wood floor as he starts folding up the blankets. "Jeez, Romeo. Pam is way too stubborn to die so soon. You're more likely to die before her."

I don't have the energy to say anything. Instead, I stare at the bed and the quilt I was sleeping with. It's all patched up with different tattered and worn fabrics, and reminds me of something my grandmother would make. My grandmother has been dead for a while, even before the world went to hell, but it still makes me emotional. Pam always said that she wanted to grow old and have grand-babies. She wanted to be the grandma that knitted and crocheted and quilted for her grandchildren.

"Cry harder, Halpert," Dwight scoffs.

I don't want to move. I don't think I can move.

He tugs my leg painfully. "Come on, I have to teach you to fight."

"I can fight," I growl.

"Not to my specifications."

He grabs my arm and leg and whisks me off the bed. My head hits the floor with a dull thud. I try to turn over, but he grabs my arm and lifts me off the ground to face him.

The room is spinning.

My legs don't want to work and I end up leaning into Dwight with all my weight.

"You've lost weight. Were you not eating?" He pesters.

"I was giving all our food to Pam. She needed it."

"Fine," he says. "You can eat before we practice."

I shake my head quickly. "No, I'm not eating your fucking beets."

"Are you four?" He snaps. "Come on, you need to eat."

I drag behind him down the creaky stairs and into the kitchen. All the windows are boarded up and very little light is coming through. It looks to be early morning outside.

"Sit down, I'll make you some food," Dwight says. "But don't get used to this. You'll learn to help yourself so long as I'm around."

"I can help myself," I say.

He scoffs, dismissing the conversation and gets started on the food.

I aimlessly poke around the bottom of the round dining table. I don't really know what to do with my hands, or myself in general. My head is pounding and all I want to do is crawl in bed with my fiancée. All I want is my fiancée.

But I had to go and kill a man.

Something slices the skin on my finger like butter. I wince and inspect the fresh cut for a moment, then turn my focus to the underneath of the table. There's tons of knives taped under here, lining the edge. They're all different kinds and shapes, but all the blades are pointing to the center.

I lift my head and catch Dwight setting soup on the table. "Eat," he demands.

It tastes like actual dirt. Its weird and bitter as hell. I don't even think he salted it or anything. It's what I imagine biting into a raw beet would taste like.

"This is awful," I mutter.

"Quit complaining and eat."

I stir it around for a bit, clinking the spoon on the side of the bowl to make it sound like I'm eating. I inspect Dwight for a moment as he leans back and sharpens an elaborate knife that came straight out of Skyrim. Weird knife collections come in handy during the apocalypse, I guess.

I take a moment to feel around my jeans, making sure I still have my pocket knife on me. I do, but besides my lighter, that's it. I have more stuff in my coat and bag, which I haven't seen since before I passed out yesterday.

"Where's my stuff?"

"What stuff?"

"My bag and coat. Where'd you put them?"

Dwight points in the general direction of the upper floor. "They're in the room you were sleeping in."

As I stand up, he bites at me to stay put. "You don't need that stuff right now! Sit!"

I sit back down with a glare locked on his glasses. My hand jitters under the table with unsure intentions.

Don't do it.

He could beat me in a fight even if I had three extra arms. In fact, he's probably not even off guard-- he's just good at acting like he is.

I force down a few more spoonfuls of liquid dirt until Dwight has enough of my gagging. He grips my arm and drags me to the backyard, tossing me down into the snow.

"Ungrateful bastard."

He goes inside and comes back with an assortment of knives. "Choose one. I'm teaching you to fight."

"I don't want to fight," I say.

"Fine," he smirks. "Then don't. I'm not doing this because I need you, Jim. I'm doing this for you, to help you. But if you don't want it, that's fine. I'll just kill you slowly and painfully and then throw you in my freezer once you're dead, and don't even think that I won't use your body for food, because I will."

I stare at the assortment of knives on the snow. Would he actually do that? Has he fucking eaten someone before?

"It's not such a tough choice anymore, is it?"

I slowly shake my head, hesitating as I reach for a knife.

"Good to know I'm still a good salesman."


	3. The Apocalypse's Candy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Body horror, lots of blood, wounds

Dwight cut me to bits during his demented “ninja” training. He said he was holding back, but I don’t believe that. He couldn’t have been. This is just payback for all those office pranks.

“You’re slacking. Pick up the pace.”

His voice is starting to grate on my nerves. Every time he speaks he does so with this sharpness that even deaf people could hear. I’d pull out my hair if my hands weren’t cut beyond recognition.

The cuts on my hands come in second place when it comes to the worst wounds he’s given me, the first being the stab wound in my side. The only reason why we’re out here is because I used the rest of my bandages on the gash, and Dwight won’t own up and help me out.

Dwight stops and gestures towards an RV in an opening in the trees. “Over there.”

“There are people in there,” I protest.

“You don’t know that,” he responds. “Now go get your bandages.”

I take a few steps forward and hesitate at the lack of footsteps behind me. I whip my head around and glare at him. “You’re not coming with me?”

He scoffs, stepping forward and roughly nudges my stab wound. “You’re the one who got stabbed.”

I growl and grip his wrist tight, bringing him with me. I brace myself for him to twist me around and break my arm, or put me in a chokehold, or even stab me again. He doesn’t, though.

Thank God.

The door to the RV is locked and all the windows are covered. There’s no way to tell if anyone is inside. Dwight shoves me aside and leans down with small tools. Gentle hands poke the tools around the keyhole. It doesn’t take long for him to unlock the door.

The door flies open, smacking Dwight and forcing him off the stairs. I stumble to the side and slip off the steps into the snow. I press my back hard against the wall, flinching every few seconds as a gun fires bullets in rapid succession. I can’t keep my eyes open long enough to find Dwight. I guess he’s on his own now-- or maybe I’m on my own.

I turn and crawl around the front of the RV to hide on the other side. If Dwight isn’t dead, he might kill me for hiding instead of fighting, but what does he expect? I lost a knife fight to him and he doesn’t trust me with a gun.

Before I can take a breath, I feel something embrace me from behind.

“I was hoping Michael would come around so I could have him to myself, but you boys work just fine for now.”

Jan would want Michael in the event of the apocalypse, wouldn’t she?

My body jolts as I feel something warm and wet on the back of my neck. I shudder and try to pull away, but she keeps me tight in her grasp. She’s...licking me?

“What are you doing?” I say, my voice faltering.

She doesn’t respond, and I swear I feel her tongue grow in size. She starts tugging off my coat, drenching my shoulder in saliva. A chill rips through me as I feel sharp teeth brush over my skin.

“Where’s Dwight?” I try, but still no response.

“You boys,” she starts, panting softly, “taste so good.”

Her teeth sink down into my shoulder, forcing a strained cry out of my throat. I try to free myself from her, but she struggles against me, determined to keep me still in her arms.

I can’t collect my thoughts; my mind is clouded with the idea that she’s not human.

Her teeth are ripping into my skin like dog canines.

A gunshot booms from behind. Blood splatters the snow, looking almost black in contrast to the white. Jan’s grip tightens on me, bringing me down with her as she collapses lifelessly.

“Hurry up, Jim. She’ll be up soon,” Dwight says. I’d be happy to hear him if it wasn’t his fault that we’re here in the first place.

I crawl out from beneath Jan. A quick glance turns into a long stare as I watch the fountain of blood from the back of her head stain the snow. I’m relieved that I can’t see her face and wherever those teeth were coming from, though curiosity still has me itching to look.

“Let’s go, Jim, we don’t have all day!” Dwight yells.

“What do you mean she’ll get up? She’s dead.”

“Don’t be stupid. Let’s move.”

I follow him into the RV and rummage for medical supplies. I show my frustration in my actions, sloppily throwing things around and huffing as he stands there and watches. He doesn’t lift a finger to help, and it’s his fault that I need bandages anyway!

Regardless, I can’t find anything through all this garbage. There’s shredded up clothing and ruined supplies that definitely didn’t belong to Jan. Some of the clothes are stiff with dried blood and crusted… whatever that is. The smell is sickening and noxious.

She must’ve killed survivors. I feel nauseous thinking about where the lack of bodies, and where those bodies could be.

I give up on the piles of clothes and trash, and then I give up on the cabinets after finding nothing but a few dishes. There’s always the bathroom.

I limp to the back, avoiding the hazards littering the floor, and find the small bathroom. There are a few slim shelves behind the mirror cabinet door that stays propped open by a fat bottle of Ibuprofen.

The apocalypse’s candy.

There aren’t many left, but I’m not complaining.

Unfortunately, there are no bandages to be seen. I might die then because I might bleed out from my shoulder or all the other gashes scattered across my skin will get infected. Either way, I’d be away from Dwight, so maybe it’s not so bad…

Speaking of, a loud crash and shouts from Dwight make me flinch hard.

His back faces me and blocks my view to the outside of the bathroom. Jan is alive. I can hear her screaming and begging for help, rambling about how much it hurts. A full body shudder lets me know that I’ll have nightmares about this.

“She won’t die!” Dwight hollers, firing at her with his shotgun.

He backs into the bathroom, trapping me behind the door. The bullets don’t seem to affect her, and she keeps going, relentlessly clawing her way towards Dwight, pleading for help. Her screams are cacophonic.

A loud thud echoes as Dwight hits the shower wall. She starts climbing on him, keeping him distracted from me. There’s an opening for me to escape. I’d be leaving him behind, but I would be away from him. I could help myself without him insisting, claiming that he’s trying to do so much for me. I don’t need him, I have myself.

I could find Pam without him.

I pull the door open and slip past the small space between the door and the sink. I stumble through the RV, nearly running, and slam my body into the front door. I hesitate; Dwight demands that I come back.

Poor Dwight. It’s satisfying when he’s the one in trouble, asking for my help.

It makes me smile.


End file.
